


warrior's heart

by cursebreakker



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Emotional Constipation, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hate to Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Slow Burn-ish, and they were roommates !! kinda, denial of very obvious feelings, feyre never banished nesta, i beg these faeries to see a therapist, in this house we respect nesta archeron !!, mention of blood and battlefields, miscommunication (?), nesta and cassian pov, nestacentric, very weak plot because i'm here for the porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29514324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cursebreakker/pseuds/cursebreakker
Summary: Nesta and Cassian learn to get along after what happened at the Winter Solstice, with a new threat at play, she's plucked out of her unhealthy lifestyle to be babysat by an overgrown Illyrian bat with a large ego.(heavily nessian-centric, with background feysand and elriel)NO ACOSF SPOILERS -- THIS IS MY OWN VERSION OF A NESSIAN STORY
Relationships: Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 14
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello (:
> 
> so, acosf was a bit of a disappointment in some aspects and i decided to revive this story (which i had posted on wattpad way back in the day) now that i have some insight into what sarah imagined for her characters and their story. my own version of a nessian story taking some inspiration from the canon material.
> 
> i will focus solely on nessian, the plot is just a pretty background for them to exist in, and each character's own personal journey.

Cassian saw himself on a battlefield. A familiar sight surrounded him, the drumming of his heart loud in his ears as he ran alongside Fae and human warriors to defend their world from falling into an era of darkness. 

The landscape was rough and slippery under his booted feet, courtesy of rain invoked by Fae magic from the enemy army, keen on making their lives harder. On the other side of the field, sun shone, the grass green and no mud puddles in sight. But Cassian had trained from an early age to be a killing machine, as well as the other Illyrian males in their ranks, a little rain and mud wouldn't slow them down. 

His legs were powerfully propulsing him toward the enemy lines, mud splattering onto his face and rain soaking his wings and Illyrian leathers with its icy grip. But he wouldn't be deterred. 

Just before the two enemy fronts collided, time seemed to stand still, all sound disappearing into an alternate reality. And then all hell broke loose. 

Cassian sliced through one enemy only for his blade to dig into the ribs of another standing directly behind the latter, his syphons shone bright red as he conjured a magic shield in one arm to defend his flank while the other one cut and slashed through enemies like they were made of paper. He used his entire body to fight, legs kicking knees and calves, stomping on feet, kneeling someone on the stomach; he also used his wings, pushing enemies away or flying over enemies only to land at their backs and push a blade through their necks. 

During war, there truly were no rules. It was either kill or be killed, and Cassian just so happened to be a _very_ skilled killer. 

He must have fought for hours, receiving his fair share of blows and cuts, one of his wings ripped by the cunning blade of one enemy who seeked to mutilate him by attacking where it'd hurt more—if he lost his wings...he didn't even want to entertain the idea.

They managed to make the enemy retreat, but not without losing a lot of good warriors along the way. All around him bodies were strewn where they'd been killed, it looked like a sea of people, almost no grass to be seen. Empty eyes stared up at the sky, no longer raining now that the battle was over and whatever magic the enemy Fae were wielding was gone with them. 

Cassian was afraid to find familiar faces on that morbid sea, but that didn't stop his brain from doing it anyway. He stepped over corpses and almost fell to his knees from exhaustion, but he needed to get out of there and rejoin his war camp. 

A hand grasped his ankle, the sudden feeling of fingers tugging at his pants startled him nearly out of his skin. He looked down, expecting to find a fallen soldier in need of his aid but that was not what he saw. 

Steel blue eyes stared at him. Cassian's knees buckled, finally giving in to exhaustion and the shock from seeing _her_ here. His hands were moving before he told them to, an older instinct to protect coming to the forefront of his mind, he brought her head to his lap while the rest of her lay splayed on the battlefield's muddy ground. 

" _Nesta_ ," he breathed, choking down a sob. 

She was bleeding so much, it was all over her and he didn't even want to look closely to inspect which wound was the most fatal one. He simply held her in his arms, syphons gleaming softly as he tried to use whatever magic he had left to slow down her hemorrhage. But he wasn't a healer, and her lips were turning a dangerous shade of blue already. 

"What are you doing here?" His voice carried a distinct shade of despair he tried to hide, if only to keep a strong face before her. 

A heartbeat later, came her answer, "You brought me here." 

His brow furrowed in puzzlement. 

"I'm dead because of you," she continued, words becoming icicles that pierced his chest. "You _promised_ to protect me." Nesta coughed up blood, the sight would be permanently engraved in his brain until the day he died. 

"I don't—" he began, eyebrows linking together. "I don't understand. This battle happened five hundred years ago." Some of his conscience started to resurface. 

"You killed me." 

His eyes snapped back to hers, she was so pale—deathly so. Nesta's skin was turning chillier by the second. He finally allowed his tears to fall, sobs wracking through his body at the sight of her fire blinking out. His hand held hers, and she squeezed his fingers one last time before going limp in his arms. 

The world turned black around him as pain teared his chest open, worse than any wound he'd ever received in all his battles. 

Cassian shot up in bed, silk sheets sliding off his chest as he heaved for breath. He could've sworn the pain that bloomed after that harrowing finale to what he now knew had been a nightmare had followed him into the conscious world. 

Moonlight trickled into his room through the windows, curtains blowing softly in the wind. Apparently he would have another night of bad sleep. It was becoming quite the occurrence, especially with the nightmares becoming more and more creative in their mission to torment him. 

He needed fresh air. 

The House of Wind was quiet, he was its sole occupant when Azriel was away in missions like in the present time. He liked the silence though, the peace that came with it. 

He strode into the veranda, feeling the cold air hit his bare chest and kiss his cheeks with its icy touch. His bare feet feeling the chill of the stone underneath. Cassian stretched out his wings, relishing in the stretch of muscle and sinew. Then, he propelled himself into the starry sky. 

□

By the time morning came, he was still out flying over Velaris and the cities nearby. Thoughts running freely through his mind, finding their release into the bitingly cold wind blowing his hair and holding him aloft. 

It hadn't been the first time Nesta starred in one of his nightmares and it probably wouldn't be the last. He was aware that his guilt for not protecting her when she needed ate at him, and after everything that happened in the war...some of his nightmares were of that moment just before they'd thought their lives were over, when she leaned over him to offer whatever protection she could with her own body. In his nightmares the King of Hybern plucked her from his arms and killed her right in front of him, every time that particular nightmare occurred he would perform the deed in a different way. 

He'd watched Nesta die a thousand different deaths in his nightmares and each of them weighed heavily on his shoulders. And the worst part was that he couldn't even talk to her, try to make things right, because she had absolutely no interest in any of them. 

Even Elain had been included in her shit list. 

The sisters' relationship deteriorated even more after the Solstice...when Nesta had made an appearance only at the threat of being cut off. It pained him to see Feyre hurt over this, and sweet Elain who had become more melancholy than usual. And it also pained him that Nesta hadn't even given him a chance to fix things. 

His gift probably laid at the bottom of the frozen Sidra—lost, like the thread of hope he'd cultivated in his chest after that battle...the one where their lips had touched and words were spoken. Powerful words. 

_I will find you in the next_ _world—the next life._

The memory hurt him like a well placed punch in the gut. Better change his trail of thought then...lest he began torturing himself with other moments they'd shared. 

Cassian flew back to the House of Wind, finding Mor standing on the veranda, leaning against the stone railing. 

"Are you quite done with the brooding?" She said as soon as his feet touched the floor. 

He cocked his head. "Hello to you too, stranger." 

Mor rolled her eyes, throwing a shirt at his chest. He hadn't even seen her holding the gray piece of fabric, probably dug it out of his dresser when she went to find him in his room and found him gone. 

"Rhys called a meeting," she said while he pulled the shirt over his head. Her elegant eyebrows are drawn together when his eyes find her lovely face once more. "It's early as hell so it's probably nothing good." 

He tried to infuse some humor in his voice when he said, "Have a little faith, Mor. He might be calling us for a nice family breakfast." 

She walked to him, hand closing around his wrist. "Here's to hoping." 

Then, she winnowed them away. 

□

They were transported to the door of Rhysand's study, which laid open while he waited for his Inner Circle to assemble. 

He was sitting behind the large desk, chin resting on one hand while the other absently drew circles on Feyre's back, which was seated on his lap watching Mor and Cassian approach with serious, blue eyes. 

Identical to her sister's. A flash of his nightmare almost made him flinch—the same shade of blue on a different face, empty and glazed over as death kissed her. 

He covered it up with humor, "Looking comfy, Feyre." 

She laughed, eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's my favorite seat in the entire world." 

Mor went over to her, kissing her cheek. 

"Where's Azriel?" Rhys asked, not even bothering with a good morning or hello which meant things must really not be great. 

Amren was the next one to appear, looking bored out of her mind already and plopping down on a seat across from the desk. "This is no time for a meeting, Rhysand." 

His High Lord's eyes went to the petite female, one eyebrow raised. Before he could say anything, Azriel's shadows materialized him outside the room and he stepped inside with a grave expression. 

"Tell them what you told me," Rhys said, violet eyes fixed on Azriel's face. 

"My shadows informed me of some suspicious behavior going on in the Autumn Court." Azriel's wings tucked in tighter against his back. "It's not good." 

"Beron wants to expand his dominion," Rhys filled in the blanks, leaning into Feyre's touch when she lifted a hand to play with his hair. "Tamlin's incompetent rule has made him an easy target and since their Courts share a border...well, it's too tempting of an opportunity to pass." 

"He's been planting and cutting ashwood trees," Azriel informed, gaining a surprised gasp from Mor. Cassian and Amren took that in with serious faces, he could feel his shoulders tense with each new piece of information. 

"Why is he planting ashwood trees?" Feyre asked, and sometimes he forgot she wasn't born into this world. She didn't really know their history and how Fae rulers of the past had grown entire forests of ashwood trees to manufacture arrows and collect its sap for poisons. 

Rhys explained to her as much, her face closing off. "I thought that these trees were extinct in Prythian," she said. 

"They were," her mate answered, looking her in the eyes. "But apparently Beron managed to get his hands in some saplings." 

"How?" Mor cut in, her brown eyes filled with worry. 

Amren's tone was acid when she added, "Please, think creatively. Beron's Court might have never gotten completely rid of the ashwood trees in their territory, cultivating them in secret, or maybe he got in contact with humans who had access to those trees and could supply him with it." 

"But the humans have their own problems right now," Feyre stated, shaking her head. "I doubt they'd want to get involved in Faerie business." 

"Not all humans think alike, Feyre darling." Her eyes went back to Rhys, whose lips pressed in a thin line. 

"I'll need to investigate more," Azriel said, his shadows curling over his shoulders as if excited with that prospect. 

"Do that," Rhys said, then turned to Cassian. "We need to start thinking about strategies and making alliances if we want this business dealt with quick and with as little casualties as possible." 

Cassian's shoulders tensed. "We lost so many in the war…" 

"And we'll lose even more if we don't stop Beron," Rhys cut him with a piercing gaze. "Do you really think he'll stop at Spring?" 

A collective shudder went through the room. No one was ready for another war, not so soon after the last one. 

With a nod, Cassian said, "I'll start drawing up plans and getting in contact with the Illyrian camps on our side." 

The High Lord leaned back against his chair, a sigh escaping his body. Feyre leaned into his chest, tucking her head under his chin. "Mother help us," he said. 

Rhys didn't dismiss them, but slowly one by one started trickling out of his study. When Cassian was about to leave as well, Feyre called his name. "A word, please?" 

He went back, sitting on the chair previously occupied by Amren. "Is something wrong?" 

She looked over her shoulder at her mate, he gave her a small nod, then she turned her attention back at Cassian. "It's about my sister." 

His senses immediately became alert. "Which one?" He heard himself ask, though he had a feeling he knew which one Feyre would be referring to. 

"Nesta," she said, confirming his suspicions. "I worry about her." 

"Feyre is afraid her sister might get into trouble," Rhys complemented, rubbing his mate's back. "Nesta puts so much effort to separate herself from us, but she's still this Court's High Lady's sister." 

"Which can make her a target," Feyre added. 

Cassian would be lying if he said he hadn't had those exact same thoughts. He would be lying if he said he'd never flown over the building where she rent a room on the other side of town, contemplating if he knocked on her door and tried to speak to her. But he'd never done it, choosing to watch from afar in order to satisfy his own need to see if she was safe and would stay that way. 

"What do you want me to do?" He asked, a General asking for orders. 

"Bring her home," Feyre said, "she can go back to hating us when the dust has settled." 

Cassian nodded, standing up from the chair in one swift movement. "Consider it done." 

On his way out of the study, as he walked to the gardens so he could stretch out his wings and fly, he couldn't help but wonder what Nesta's reaction to his sudden visit would be. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all, i'm back! 
> 
> i wanted to make sure it was clear that the ending of ACOFAS where feyre banishes nesta and tells her she'll go to the illyrian mountains with cassian didn't happen. everything except that small part did! 
> 
> in my mind feyre would have been much more understanding of nesta's fragile state of mind and would have never banished her sister, what she does in this story is simply to keep nesta safe while tensions are high between courts. 
> 
> thanks for reading!! ❤

Of course he knew where she lived, he made it his business to watch over the building from time to time, just so he could lay down his head on his pillow at night and not conjure up more nightmares where Nesta ended up badly hurt or dead. 

The rent of her apartment was paid with Rhys's money, which was also largely spent on alcohol every day. Cassian hated to see her coming home on unsteady feet because of her overindulgence, he hated even more when she was being accompanied by a male or female she'd picked up on whatever establishment she'd chosen to waste her time in. 

He'd walked up to that damn building and stood in front of it, garnering courage to enter and find Nesta's apartment, many more times than he probably should have. Balking at the prospect of facing her every time. 

But he couldn't turn his back now, not after a direct order from Feyre. She wanted her sister safe and tucked away somewhere she couldn't be easily plucked from her bed at night to be used as bait like it had happened before—a flash of memory from that night entered his mind, Nesta kicking and screaming as she was pushed into the Cauldron; him lying on the floor, too hurt to move...to help. 

Never again. 

Cassian landed on the street of her building, boots making a loud impact against the cobblestoned path. It wasn't a nice part of the city, not like the Rainbow of Velaris with its colorful houses and artsy atmosphere. This was a bohemian side of the city, with puddles of Mother knew what on the sidewalks and drunken Fae stumbling to another bar or back home. The houses followed a pattern, like many of Velaris's houses did, but here it was all dull gray brick and arched windows; probably beautiful once, but in urgent need of restorations now. 

He strode toward her building with purpose. The door was unlocked, which irked him to no end because it meant that any seedy individual could come in and out of that building at any given time. Once inside, he allowed his eyes to wander the foyer and frowned at the peeling wallpaper and dirty carpet flooring. He didn’t exactly know which one of the doors held Nesta’s apartment behind it, so he followed the scent he couldn’t forget even if he tried up the creaky stairs and stationed himself in front of a scratched door at the end of the second floor’s corridor. 

He lifted a fist and knocked on the wood, careful not to do it too strongly and disintegrate the door under his loud raps. No one answered. 

Cassian repeated the action, shuffling his feet. 

Footsteps echoed softly inside the apartment, her scent becoming stronger as she approached the door. He held his breath and squared his shoulders. The door opened and his eyes landed on her figure—thin, _too thin._ Nesta’s cheeks were sunken in, her collarbones protuberant. She wore a simple shirt that reeked of a male’s scent. 

“Morning, Nes.” 

Her eyes were the calmest of blues, but the steel behind them contradicted that peaceful color. “Fuck off,” she said and was about to close the door on his face when he stuck his foot out to stop that from happening. 

The glare she gave him told him she had no qualms about forcing the door shut with or without his foot on the way. 

“Care for a stroll on this beautiful day?” Cassian kept his foot where it was, smiling with his pointy canines showing. 

Nesta sighed, leaning against the door. He tried very hard to ignore her bare legs or the see-through quality of the shirt’s material and how he could make out an outline of her nipples, his gaze focused on her face. “What do you want?”

“To talk,” he answered honestly. “So I suggest you send your companion home and get dressed. I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

She seemed surprised for a moment. “How did—”

“I can smell the fool trying to sneak out the window,” he commented, rolling his eyes. “Great pick.”

Her face instantly hardened, she crossed her arms before her chest. “I don’t want to go, so I suggest _you_ get your ass the hell away from me.”

“Sorry, Nes, that’s not an option.” He smirked.

“Get lost.” She snarled, trying to force the door closed again. Cassian put one hand on the wood and pushed the door open, making his way inside. He could hear Nesta screaming at him, some profanities that would make experienced warriors blush leaving her mouth. 

He turned around, cocking his head. “I see you’ve acquired a dirty mouth in your time away.”

“Get. _Out._ ” She pointed one slender finger toward the door. 

Cassian was more interested in the male that had left his scent all over her apartment—he scrunched his nose—and over Nesta. There was no physical trace of him in the small room connected to the living space, but the window was open. 

“Your boy toy successfully made his escape,” he commented drily, walking up to the window and looking down at the street below. A shirtless male ran down the street, almost turning the corner. Cassian smirked at the sight and at the light hint of fear laced with the male’s scent near the window. 

Something hard hit the back of his head. He whirled in place, holding a hand to the aching spot. A heavy book lay at his feet, it looked like a dictionary but upon close inspection of the title he could identify it as just another one of the romance novels Nesta was known to be fond of reading. 

“Get out of my house, brute!” She yelled, picking up another heavy looking book from a pile sitting at her end table. 

“I’m not leaving without you.” A simple statement that made her arm droop for one second, before she threw the book she was holding at him. Again. His quick reflexes caught the book this time, and he opened it to a random page only to mess with her. Cassian’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “This is extremely detailed.”

“Give it back,” Nesta ordered, holding out a hand. Her cheeks flaming red. 

“He planted kisses down the column of her neck, sparking that delicious tingling sensation between her le—”

“Enough!” Her cheeks were flaming red, a light dusting of that healthy color splashed her collarbones and the tips of her arched ears. 

“Get dressed, Nes.” Cassian eyed her up and down, scrunching his nose. “And please wash the smell of sex off your skin.” 

She made an obscene gesture with her hand that made him chuckle and shake his head. 

“I want you to know that I’m going to take a bath because I want to and not because you told me to,” she said, walking toward the attached bathroom in the room. “And I want you out of my apartment when I come out. Wait for me downstairs. I can’t stand your scent polluting my house for a single second more.” 

The barb hurt, but that was her intention so he refused to feel affected by it. He knew she was all bark and no bite. He walked out of her apartment and waited for her at the bottom of the stairs like she’d asked, trying not to think about the implication behind her words. 

_She’s allowed to dislike you,_ his rational side said. But something ancient and primal inside of him snarled at that statement. Good thing he’d become very good at ignoring the latter. 

□

Sitting inside the rusted copper bathtub, Nesta scrubbed her skin red trying to get rid of the scent left behind by the male companion from last night. She brought the cleaning rag between her legs, eliminating every last drop of evidence of that encounter. There weren't any lost feelings between them, he'd been a tool to scratch an itch. A means to make her feel something other than the aching hollowness in her chest and the darkness threatening to swallow her whole.

The bathtub's water didn't reach her middle, she bathed in laughably shallow water because any connection to the thing that'd made her into what she is—it made her skin crawl and her breath come out short whenever she was reminded of the feeling of being pushed under those dark waters. She had to lie in the bottom of the tub to wash her hair, lathering her scalp with cheap soap scented like lemongrass. 

Her eyes found a large stain in the ceiling, she remained where she was with her hands over her stomach while her mind went blank for a couple of seconds. Nesta's fingers trailed over her protuberant ribs, counting each one of them in time with the breaths leaving her lungs. It was a calming technique, one she'd learned long ago when her ribs had shown from hunger brought along by poverty. Back then, she'd burned so brightly with rage—at her useless father, at the situation he'd allowed them to be in, at Feyre for enabling him by going out every day to put food on the table...now there was nothing but a small flicker.

She feared that if she let it burn any brighter the world around her might go up in flames too. So she tried to keep her temper in check. Drowning her feelings with alcohol and taking out her frustrations in sex. 

Nesta might have dozed off for a minute, enjoying the rareness of having her mind quiet. It felt good. Like tasting the icing on a cake or starting a book she'd been excited about. Small pleasures she hadn't experienced in a while. 

But every good thing always comes to an end, it would be no different with this. A splash of water caused by her own thigh moving was enough to remind her of the sound of guts falling to the ground from a gaping wound—her eyes shot open, she used her hands to grip the bathtub's edges and pull herself up. She felt bile rising and went to the waste bucket tucked in one corner of the room. 

Wiping her mouth clean, Nesta crawled to where the sink was propped against the wall, her long wet hair sticking to her skin and dripping on the creaky floorboards. She gripped the sink's edge with white-knuckled force and pulled herself up with the help of her wobbly knees. Her reflection on the cracked mirror looked like she'd seen a ghost: pale skin, bloodless lips and wide eyes.

Nesta had only a couple of dresses hanging on the old armoire pushed to one corner of the room. She selected a plain one, the same color of the sky when it was about to rain, and collected her wet hair in a braid that wrapped around the crown of her head. Her dress hung a little too loose on her body, but she didn't particularly care. The shoes were one of the two pairs of worn silk slippers she owned, there were a pair of sturdy boots by the bed but they smelled strongly like vomit and she deduced that was the result of stepping in a puddle of it on her way back home from the previous night's outing. 

She didn't even know why she was entertaining the Illyrian brute, by all rights she should leave him hanging and escape through the building's backdoor. The only thing that stopped her from doing so was the certainty that he'd follow her wherever she went until she heard what he had to say. 

He was stationed at the bottom of the rackety staircase, arms crossed and wings tucked tightly at his back. Anyone that looked at him would have no doubt he was a warrior, by the way he carried himself like a trained soldier and the Illyrian leathers that seemed to be the only thing in his wardrobe. Nesta gently pushed that perception to one corner of her brain, designed to be plucked from when she was looking for insults to fling at people—it went right into the "Illyrian brute" box that had started to overfill with stinging barbs devised to hurt. 

"Finally," he said, unpeeling himself from the wall he'd been leaning against. "I was beginning to think I'd have to come upstairs to rush you." 

"I had to vomit before coming out," she replied with a shrug of one shoulder. "The thought of spending time with you upsets my stomach." 

Cassian smirked. "Yes, I can smell it in your breath." 

Nesta would not let his comment affect her. There was no need for it to affect her. She didn't care about him or his opinion. It was best if he matched her unfriendliness, that way she could rest assured that they were on the same page about the relationship between them. Nothing more than tepid feelings bordering on dislike, shallower than the water she bathes in. 

They walked outside her building and she would've kept walking had Cassian not stopped her by placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'll need to fly you there." 

She locked her ankles in place. "Absolutely not." 

"It's far—"

"I don't care," she cut him, voice sharp. "I'd rather walk than fly on any day." 

He dipped his chin toward his chest, a lock of curly dark hair falling over his hazel eyes with the motion. "As you wish, Nes." 

"And _don't_ call me that." A slender finger was pointed at his face, making him go cross-eyed for a second trying to keep it in his line of sight. 

He huffed, rolling his shoulders like he was shrugging off her bad attitude. "Let's get going then, _Nesta_." 

She couldn't explain why the way he was so willing to call her by her name and not the nickname he'd chosen for her had left her in an unexpected bad mood—worse than the one she'd been before. Cassian's legs started moving and she reluctantly fell into step with him. 

Their walk to wherever it was he planned on bringing her was done in silence, but after the first three blocks walking in the chilly morning Nesta's lungs were working two times more. She was not used to exercise, her legs had already begun to ache and soon her feet would be swollen. But she refused to admit defeat. 

If the General noticed she was falling behind or that her breathing was coming in short gasps he didn't comment. Sweat beaded on her forehead and ran down her spine, pooling on the valley of her lower back. She was about to swallow her pride and beg for a moment to collect herself when the male before her suddenly stopped in front of a shop and shook out his wings like a dog shakes his tail in excitement. 

"We're here." 

The place was tucked between two large buildings with windows portraying various types of cakes of all sizes and colors. An array of round wooden tables with mismatching colorful chairs littered the space before the shop, a few patrons sitting outside to bask in the sunlight. Nesta looked over the place one more time, noticing the small line forming inside the building. 

"Go take a seat," Cassian said dangerously close to her ear, it made her jump in place. The bastard leaned back, studying her rosy cheeks—from the exertion of walking—and chuckled. "I'll be right back. What would you like to eat?" 

"Whatever," she snapped, turning from him in order to secure them a table. It appeared the little shop had quite the faithful crowd of patrons, for more and more Faeries started showing up in the time she took a free table for herself. 

It didn't take very long for the oversized bat to come back with arms laden with plates of food and two glasses of water floating behind him, his syphons glowing red from the small amount of magic he must have used to perform that little trick. He placed it all on the table, pushing two plates her way while he brought three to his side of the table. 

"It's blueberry pancakes," he answered her unspoken question, pointing to one of the plates, "and traditional Velarisian eggs." 

Nesta's curiosity was piqued. "What's in it?" 

"Well, eggs." 

She curled her lips. Why did she think he could be capable of keeping a civil conversation? There was no reason for her to expect it. And she shouldn't be feeling disappointed in his answer either, it's not like she had been a great conversationalist to him in the past—quite the opposite, in fact. It's not like she _wants_ to be there, talking to him. She'd rather be home, nursing a glass of white wine and reading one of the romance novels stacked on her end table. 

"I'm not a cook," he said after a while, chewing his own food slowly. "I can't tell you what goes into that food, but I know it tastes good." 

More or less appeased, Nesta picked up the fork and poked at the eggs with it. "You better be right." 

He watched as she brought a forkful of the food into her mouth. She took her time savoring the taste, enjoying the slices of melted cheese gluing everything together. There were so many flavors, definitely a collection of spices not available in the human lands had been used to season the eggs. 

Cassian's gaze was expectant, looking from the plate of food to her chewing mouth. Nesta would have chuckled at the sight if her mouth wasn't full— _no,_ she definitely wouldn't have chuckled, not even if she wasn't busy chewing. 

"Your verdict?" He asked after she'd swallowed. But she delayed her answer with a sip from the glass of water, pleasantly cold and refreshing. 

She shrugged. "It's not bad." 

His answer was a chuckle. 

They went through the rest of the food on their plates in silence. Nesta wouldn't tell him that everything she'd put on her mouth tasted divine, but she was definitely thankful for having good food in her belly after surviving off of cheap food served on bars for months now. 

Once their plates were cleared, Cassian collected them all and disappeared into the shop once more. When he came back, someone stopped him on his way and started to talk animatedly with him, lots of hand gestures involved. The General's face settled into a pleasant smile and Nesta narrowed his eyes at the female Fae running her hand down one of his biceps. 

Was she a friend of his? Before she could think about what her legs were doing, they'd taken her to where Cassian stood before the strange female, who was even lovelier up close with rosy cheeks and golden curls framing her diamond shaped face. 

"Excuse me," the other female said, putting a possessive hand on Cassian's forearm. "I was talking with the General." 

For some reason, her tone and the way she'd put her hands on him—like she had any _right_ to do so—made Nesta see red. "The _General_ and I have important matters to discuss," she answered in a clipped tone, controlling her voice not to raise any more than it was acceptable in polite society. 

Cassian gently pried the female's fingers away, the act made a small part largely ignored inside of her vibrate with an unnamed feeling. "It was nice talking to you. I'm always happy to meet one of the citizens I help to keep safe." 

She gave him a sweet smile, blushing. Nesta felt like ripping the frilly bow tying her pelisse in place. 

He placed a hand in the middle of her shoulders, steering her away from that female and her scent of honey cake and wild daisies. It made her want to expel all the food she'd just shoved inside her body. 

"Come," he urged, picking up his pace. "I know somewhere we can talk in private." 

His words elicited a dangerous reaction in her body. Warmth pooled in her chest and reddened her cheeks. Her mind went under a lustful haze for one second before she reminded herself whose face and body she was picturing in her fantasies. 

A lapse of judgement. Quickly swept away and replaced by a stony expression and squared shoulders. 

Her legs were still hurting from before, but she wouldn't tell him that. The last thing she needed was that Illyrian bastard lecturing her on keeping her muscles healthy by exercising, she'd heard enough of that from Amren in the past. 

The diminutive female's face came into her mind, framed by the straight bob cupping her well defined cheeks. Her eyes had glowed with a flicker of what little power had been left inside her when she'd spoken her final words to Nesta, "You've become a pathetic excuse of life." 

She flinched at the memory. Still felt the deep gash those words had left in their path. 

Cassian guided her to a flowery pathway, ensconced in the middle of two buildings. It was probably an alleyway at some point, but the space had been re-imagined into a small oasis hidden in plain sight. The flowers were starting to bloom as it was the beginning of spring and a series of stone benches were spaced along one of the brick walls. They were the only ones there. 

She couldn't help but think Elain would love this place. 

"I should stop stalling and come out with it already." Cassian stepped into her line of sight, obscuring her view of the mouth of the alley.

Cold gripped her insides. She didn't like being cornered. Discreetly, she stepped around him putting some distance between their bodies. If he noticed, he didn't comment nor tried to close the gap once more. 

"Feyre—" 

Nesta hissed, the name of her youngest sister bringing forth a more savage side of her. "I don't want to hear it." 

He raised one eyebrow, unfairly sculpted. "You _will_ hear what the High Lady of this Court has to say." 

Scoffing, Nesta turned on her heels heading toward the exit. "She's not my High Lady." 

"You might not respect her as your sister, but you're standing in territory she rules over and you _will_ respect her as the High Lady of the Night Court." Cassian extended one wing, blocking her path with it. 

She put her hands on it, intending to push it aside—he hissed, knees buckling. Her eyes widened, suddenly worried she'd hurt his stupid bat wings. When she tried to put her hands on it again, to see if there were any tears or scratches, he pulled it away from her touch and said, "Don't touch them." 

"I—" The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she wouldn't let them leave. Her pride wouldn't allow it. 

"Your sister asked me to bring you somewhere safe." Cassian tucked his wings even more tightly on his back, crossing his big arms in front of a large chest. 

"I'm not interested in what she asked you to do," she spit, trying to get around him once more but this time he blocked her path with his arm. 

"My order is to get you somewhere safe and that's exactly what I plan on doing." 

Nesta felt her anger rising. "Try it." 

He stared at her eyes, chewing over whatever he saw in them. "I'm not scared of you, Nesta Archeron." 

She would've given him a snarky response, but he didn't let that happen when his arm circled her waist and pulled her to his chest as if to embrace her. She yelped, not used to the feeling of him being so close, and before she could push him away he opened his wings and shot up. 

Her scream could be heard from the other side of the Sidra. 

□

Cassian's eardrums might be permanently damaged. He didn't expect her reaction to be a bloodcurdling scream, but that's what he got. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his neck while her legs gripped his middle as if he were a tree branch she was trying to climb. He positioned one hand on the upper half of her back while the other one rested on the indent of her lower back. 

"I hate you." Her words were muffled by the wind and the beat of his powerful wings. 

He looked down at her face, a tearstained cheek visible from that angle. "I know," he answered, feeling his chest cave open at the sight of her tears. 

The House of Wind came into view rather quickly, thankfully. He didn't know if he could keep Nesta in his arms one moment longer without burying his nose on the space where her shoulder met her neck. But she hated him and she was clearly afraid of heights, which made him feel like a piece of shit for thinking about licking her neck when she was so clearly disturbed. 

He felt even worse when he realized _where_ he was taking her. 

While she'd lived there in the first months after her being Made, he knew she held no special place in her heart for the palace built at the top of a mountain. With her fear of heights, he could imagine why. 

There was no way to leave that house if not by descending the ten thousand steps that led up to it or flying in and out as one pleased. The wards Rhys put in place were so strong not even himself or Feyre could winnow directly inside the building, they could winnow to the edge of the ward's barrier and drop into the balcony hugging one side of the palace. But since Cassian couldn't winnow, he stuck with the good old flying in technique. 

By the time he stepped foot on the balcony, Nesta was already wrangling free from his grasp and running toward the railing. He flinched at the sound of her retching her breakfast down the side of the mountain. 

She wiped her mouth with her dress's long sleeve, then glared at him. A spark of silver flame burning behind her pupils, he'd seen it dancing there before—a hint of her powers threatening to surface. 

"I deserve that look," he said. 

"You deserve to be thrown out this balcony." She took a step forward, hissing and baring her teeth. Cassian stared at her, so new to this world but already behaving like any cornered High Fae would. 

"I have very big wings." He blinked. Smirk in place. 

Nesta let out a sound akin to a war cry and lunged, her fingers curled like claws and teeth snapping. He put his hands up, covering his face—her nails dug creases at the back of his hands, drawing up blood. 

He grabbed her wrists and pulled her away from the railing, dragging her into the house which was comfortably cozy even if there was still unmelted snow in the mountains around them. 

"Let. _Go._ " 

It was Cassian's turn to snarl. " _Stop_!" 

Miraculously, she did. Her eyes lost some of their burning silver, her rosy lips dropped open in surprise. Then, she seemed to recollect her scattered thoughts and hardened her expression once more. "Don't ever take that tone to me again. _Ever_." 

He let go of her wrists, taking a step back. His wings trembled with unspent unergy, itching to spread out and go on another flight. "I won't." He cleared his throat. "I apologize for my tone." 

Nesta rubbed her wrists, inspecting them for bruises. "Get out of my sight." 

He did. No other words spoken between them. 

When he closed the door to his bedroom, he allowed a groan to rip through his throat. Cassian stomped toward the line of windows, propping each arm on one side of the intricate archway framing every glass panel. He could see the peak of the mountain where Windhaven was located. 

Nesta's face came back to him, her tears while she was airborne and the concealed fear in her voice when he raised his voice at her. He shook his head, trying to dispel those images. 

She was right about him when she called him an Illyrian brute. He hung his head, wings drooping and touching the floor. 

He'd never deserve her. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos or comments? consider doing both maybe?


	3. Chapter 3

For the brief time she'd lived at the House of Wind, Nesta had been able to catalogue much of its internal structure. She'd wandered these hallways way too often, worried about Elain and even Feyre—if she chose to be honest with herself. But her youngest sister had always been a sore spot, even sorer now that she'd gone and gotten herself a crown and power with it. 

There was no jealousy in her heart for the title in itself, but she'd be lying if she said there was no jealousy for the freedom that came with it. Her sister could come and go as she pleased, her money was her own not only by marriage but from the pictures she'd begun to sell from her little painting shop. Feyre had gotten herself independence, and that sparked more envy than any fancy title she possessed. 

Nesta had nothing to her name. No money, no skills to hone into a profitable craft and much less independence. She could fool herself into thinking she had all three, but the money came from her sister's husband's pocket, all the skills she possessed had been taught to her from an early age in hopes to better her marriage prospects in the human world, therefore useless in her new life, and the independence she enjoyed was a farce clearly proven by how easily it had been for her to be plopped into a windy prison. 

Some of Cassian's blood was caked under her nails. It gave her a savage type of satisfaction to see it there, it was a good reminder that she wasn't as helpless as she felt half of the time. A man had tried to force himself on her once and she'd managed to escape by sheer force of will, biting a piece of his ear clean off. This Illyrian brute thought he could keep her trapped in here without her batting an eyelash, he was very wrong. 

Nesta walked to the room she'd occupied back in those first months at the Night Court. The decoration remained the same, her bookshelf filled with untouched volumes that'd magically appeared one day. She plopped down on the bed, her body being engulfed by the mattress. Her eyes closed, she breathed in through her nose. 

She'd missed having a comfortable place to sleep. 

The lumpy bed back in her rented apartment stank of sweat and sex no matter how many times she changed the bed linens. These bedsheets smelled like winter wind and lavender, her favorite scents in the world. The house had some sort of sentient magic woven into its wards, it knew of her preferences and made it so everything was up to her tastes. A clever prison, it seemed. 

No doubt Feyre and the rest of her Court of fools expected her to be grateful for being treated so well. It would be easy to accept all this—living in a palace, being surrounded by luxuries...but Nesta wasn't grateful. She was livid. 

Her little sister had no right to relocate her into a house that could very well be a prison. Nesta had no intention of braving the ten thousand steps it would take to reach the ground, nor could she winnow or grow wings and fly through the window. She was as much a prisoner as she was a guest in this house. And her sister most likely knew that would be the case. 

Nesta wasn't happy about this turn of events. She still didn't exactly know why she'd been brought to the House of Wind, but she could bet it had something to do with her sister acting on her best interests without considering what it would do to the people she affected. 

Cassian had told her he'd been ordered to bring her somewhere safe...now it was no secret that Feyre disapproved of her elder sister's lifestyle. If this was some poor excuse of intervention, Nesta would be even more livid. No one had the right to force her into any mold because it fit their idea of "being well". 

And if that Illyrian brute showed his face again there was no telling what her reaction would be. If she could control her powers there was no doubt in her mind she'd turn his beloved Illyrian leathers into cinder. 

That would teach him. 

□

In order to avoid imminent disaster, Cassian decided it would be a good idea to keep to his room at least until Nesta's mood became more amiable. Not that she was _ever_ amiable, but there were moments when the eldest Archeron sister didn't look like she was plotting his slow death or wishing the world around her to burn in silvery fire. 

He took that time to study some strategy and draw up a plan on how to approach the encroaching danger to their Court. It wasn't a direct threat, not like Hybern had been, but the matter at hand was serious enough to plan ahead lest they be caught off guard. 

The High Fae were ambitious and power hungry by nature, he'd seen many small conflicts erupt and dissolve in the other Courts throughout his years of being alive. It didn't surprise him one bit that Beron, who was already a slimy bastard on a good day, was planning on marching into another Court's territory with the intent of conquering it. In Prythian if you were not the predator, then you were preyed upon. 

Unfortunately, planning and strategizing only took so much of his time since he needed to actually talk to the figureheads of his plans to form alliances he could count on which meant that he had a lot of free time in his hands after he drafted an initial defensive plan. 

A gentle dark presence knocked on his mental shields, asking for permission. He let his guard down, allowing Rhys's words to echo in his head, _"Are you still alive?"_

Cassian scoffed, kicking his legs up on the table he'd been using to spread the scrolls and maps for his work. "I'm hiding in my room." 

His friend's laughter translated through the bond as a soft humming, wispy and dark but familiar at the same time. 

"I fear for my balls," Cassian continued in a jaunty tone. "She may rip them away in my sleep." 

_"If anyone can survive Nesta Archeron's fury, it is you."_ Rhys's voice carried the easiness that could only come from years of friendly banter. 

"You overestimate my abilities, I see." 

He could practically see his High Lord shrugging and offering a smirk before he said, _"Or maybe I'm confident in your charming personality."_

Shaking his head, Cassian asked, "Why are you bothering me, anyway?" 

_"I wanted to let you know Azriel's on his way to the Autumn Court, he sent some spies to the Spring Court too."_

The general lifted one eyebrow. "Is that all?" 

Rhys sighed. _"Feyre proposed an idea for Nesta's quick recovery."_

He bristled, wings fluttering slightly behind him. "She's not an invalid." 

_"But she is hurting herself. And others."_

Cassian hung his head, hands burying into his dark waves. "Why do I have the feeling I'm not going to like it?" 

_"Feyre and I believe that training could do her some good. It will help her with discipline and self control, she'll have a healthy way to work out some of her anger and her body will become stronger."_ Rhys paused, presumably to wait for Cassian's response. When it didn't come, he continued, " _She'll also know how to protect herself, if she ever needs to."_

He felt a heaviness settling in his chest, the Nesta in his nightmares coming back to him. All the different ways she was taken from him because he wasn't there to protect her when she needed it—Cassian stopped himself before he spiraled, taking a deep breath in. Of course he'd thought about teaching Nesta the basics of combat fighting before, but he always knew she would rather die a slow death than pick up a weapon. 

"She's not a warrior," he commented, remembering her slender hands when they held a book in her lap.

_"Feyre was not a warrior either and look at her now,"_ came his brother's response. 

"It's different." Cassian lowered his legs from the table, shifting his weight on his seat. "Feyre wanted to learn." 

_"It's just an idea, Cas. But it would be good if you tried to talk with her about this."_

He scoffed again. "I don't think she wants to talk to me much less train, but I'll try." 

_"That's good, Feyre will be happy to know."_ His tone was pleased, as if he was patting himself on the back. For some reason, it bothered Cassian. 

"Do you even care about her, Rhys?" He blurted, not really sure why he asked that in the first place. 

_"I care about Feyre's happiness."_ A short, straight answer. 

"Right." 

_"You don't understand. Nesta hurt my mate in the past, she keeps hurting her now."_ Came that wispy voice in his head again. _"It's hard for me to forgive her."_

"Feyre did," Cassian countered, feeling his temper rise. "It's not like she hates her sister." 

_"I don't hate her, Cas. You're getting defensive and I understand that, truly I do, but you need to realize that same defensiveness courses through me where Feyre is concerned."_

"I don't want to talk about this," he said curtly. 

_"All right,"_ Rhys answered. _"Please, let us part in peace."_

"I'm not angry at you, brother, rest assured." 

_"Good. I'll check on you tomorrow."_

Cassian nodded, knowing his brother could feel it through their momentary connection. Then, as suddenly as when he'd appeared, Rhys's magic went away and left the Illyrian with a loud head. 

How would he approach Nesta without getting his head chewed off? 

□

She had a problem. 

When light filtered in through the arched floor-to-ceiling windows and awakened her to another day, Nesta made her way to the adjacent bathroom only to find a _pool_ instead of a bathtub. 

And she stared. 

She couldn't enter that pool. Not unless she wanted to be overwhelmed by memories of a similarly deep body of water enveloping her whole. So she turned on her heels, forgoing a bath and changed into a clean dress she found hanging inside the ornately carved armoire. 

There were many clothes there, dresses especially catered to her taste and size. She wondered if her new wardrobe was a result of the house's magic or her sister's meddling. Nesta would have been grateful for the new clothes if she didn't know that it was all a ploy to make her more agreeable to this entire situation. As if she would easily forget she's being kept at this house against her will. 

Entering the dining room, she found her captor sitting at the table. Not at the head, where Rhysand would have sat if he was there. Nesta noticed he took the same place he usually did whenever they reunited for dinner parties, which made her want to sit in Rhysand's chair. 

Slowly, she strode towards the head of the table and sat down as if that had always been her place. A plate of food and a glass of water appeared before her, silver cutlery—lacking a knife—rested on each side of the plate. When she looked up, Cassian was frowning. 

She offered a fake smile, then started digging into her food. 

Nesta was fully prepared to ignore the Illyrian brute for however long this incarceration period lasted, but he clearly had no intention of doing the same. Clearing his throat to call her attention, he spoke, "Have you ever thought about training?" 

The best thing she could do was pretend she didn't hear him and keep eating her food as if she was alone in the room. But years of etiquette classes to learn how to engage in polite conversation forced her eyes up to meet his and a small, clipped response to leave her mouth, "No." 

His wings fluttered, as if shaking some invisible layer of dust off. "I've been thinking you could benefit from it." 

She pressed her fork down next to her food, licking her lips clean. Nesta finished her glass of water and began to stand up to leave when he spoke again, "It'd be good for you." 

"I know what's good for me," she snapped, feeling her anger rise within her. Damn him for knowing exactly what buttons to push to get a reaction out of her. 

Nesta wanted to be cool and collected, but she felt too much and too strongly in order to pull off the cold stoicism she aimed for. That didn't stop her from trying her best though. 

"So getting piss drunk and bringing a different person into your bed every night is what's best for you?" Cassian's tone carried the distinct venom of a stilted male, and she narrowed her eyes once she recognized what had urged those words from his mouth. Hurt male pride. 

"Tell me, is having many lovers only allowed when you're an Illyrian war general now?" 

Cassian gripped his fork tighter, she could practically feel him holding back a retort. His syphons gleamed crimson for a short second then went back to being dormant. 

"You twist my words, Nesta Archeron." His voice was low and dangerous, a dollop of darkness coloring his words. It sent a shiver through Nesta's spine. 

She hid her body's reaction by pushing her plate away and standing up from her chair. "I tire of this conversation." 

Hazel eyes snapped to her, serious and observant. 

Nesta didn't look back as she strode away, but she could feel his gaze on her until she was out of his line of sight. She decided not to ponder on the reaction her body had as soon as his eyes were no longer on her, as if it missed his attention. She scoffed and picked up a book instead, getting lost in the words and scenarios painted by an author's clever hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> any inaccuracies are due to the fact that i haven't re-read the acotar books in years and am going solely by what i remember from them (and wiki 🤪)
> 
> kudos and comments are, as always, appreciated.


End file.
